Blood Loss
by Penn Flinn
Summary: As if carrying a bunch of stuffy delegates across the galaxy wasn't enough, the Enterprise is stalked by a mysterious enemy ship. Meanwhile, Spock confronts his human side, and someone on board the Enterprise has murder in mind. A reboot of classic murder mystery episode "Journey to Babel." (established S/U, rated for whump and language) COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm back! It's been a little while since posting here, but I've been hard at work. I recently finished all of the TOS episodes, and I was interested in the experience of rebooting one of them. My favorite episode is Journey to Babel, so it seemed only logical to use that one! I wrote with a transcript next to me, so most of the lines are directly from the episode-however, I've added some scenes and changed some dialogue to fit circumstance and the nuances of the reboot characters.**

**I love this episode because it explores such fascinating aspects of Spock's character and his relation to his father and the human world. I hope to expand on that and flesh out some other angles (especially in the light of his mother not being present in this reboot verse).**

**It's been a fun, sometimes challenging, interesting experience. I hope you enjoy!**

**Warnings: Rated T for mild language and violence. Takes place after Into Darkness, mild spoilers.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek.**

* * *

"How do I look?"

Bones shot Jim a semi-disgusted look as the other man flashed an overpowering smile.

"Like an idiot, as usual," the doctor said. "Just dressed slightly better."

Jim turned to the mirror once more and smoothed down a few more wrinkles in his dress uniform. The material was much less comfortable than his usual attire, and more constricting. Apart from the transportation of an ambassador a few months prior, there had been little cause for pulling out the fancy clothes. They had lain wrinkled in a bottom drawer of Jim's quarters until minutes before, and they certainly looked it.

As Jim finished primping himself in the mirror, Bones fidgeted with his own collar agitatedly. "Dress uniforms, spit and polish. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to stand this." He frowned. "I feel like my neck's in a sling."

At this, Jim turned from the mirror and clapped one hand on Bones' shoulder, a familiar gesture of over-enthusiastic comfort that did nothing for nerves. "Lighten up, Bones. The Vulcans are the last delegates we have to pick up. As soon as we get them aboard, we'll be able to relax."

He strode past Bones to the door and it swished open without hesitation. Bones followed him out into the corridor beyond, where other crewmembers occasionally walked past. They all looked just as uncomfortable as Bones felt. The air of importance and dignity that arrived with the delegates permeated every inch of the starship, putting off even the lowliest of workers.

It was suffocating, Bones thought.

"Sure," he said, nodding to an Ensign that scurried past. "A formal reception tonight, a hundred and fourteen delegates aboard for two weeks…a few of them ambassadors..."

As if on cue, an ever-stoic Vulcan appeared from a side passageway, harsh hallway lighting accentuating the green flush in his cheeks. Spock fell into stride with Jim and Bones, fitting in to their formation with such ease as completing a puzzle.

"...half of them mad at the other half," Bones continued, "and the whole lot of them touchier than a raw antimatter pile over this Coridan question."

He didn't have to look to sense Spock's raised eyebrow. Doubtless the Vulcan had put together the pieces of the conversation already.

However, before he could interject, an intercom on the wall ahead of them whistled. Shooting a hard glance at Bones, Jim walked up to the intercom and thumbed the button. "Kirk here."

The high, thickly-accented voice of Chekov filtered through the intercom.

"_Shuttlecraft approaching with Ambassador Sarek's party, Keptin_."

Although the Ensign could not see him, Jim nodded. "Bring them aboard, Mr. Chekov."

"_Standby to recover shuttlecraft. Honour guard to ze hangar deck._"

"Thanks, Chekov," Jim said. He paused, gathering himself. "Kirk out."

He severed the connection and looked up at his two companions. His attempt at a smile was less than reassuring.

"Well?" he said. "Shall we?"

* * *

The hangar deck was static with a nervous energy. The honor guard stood at fierce attention, phasers in hand, arms crossed. A few nodded at Jim as he approached, but most seemed to be fighting a stiff anxiety. Jim didn't blame them; so many delegates in one confined location could be a risky business, and exceptionally good behavior was expected from everyone on board. The delegates from New Vulcan were especially revered, considering the events of two years ago.

Bones glanced upward at nothing in particular as a computerized voice sounded around them. _Clear hangar deck. Clear hangar deck. Depressurizing. Recovering shuttlecraft. Hangar deck pressurizing._

"Hey, Spock?" he said uncertainly. "How does that Vulcan salute go again?"

"It's quite simple, Doctor," Spock said, raising his hand. His fingers parted into the traditional V shape, unwavering through a lifetime of practice. Bones attempted the same gesture, but his fingers shook and refused to join.

"That hurts worse than the uniform," he jibed. "I'm gonna have to glue them together just to say hello."

Just as they reached the main doors, a figure in red trotted up to them and fell in beside Spock. The Vulcan reacted with as much shock as his heritage would allow.

"Nyota?" he said softly, eyes darting to the hangar doors. "What is the matter?"

The Lietenant smiled up at him. "What do you think? I came to greet the Vulcan party."

Spock looked around once more. "You are aware, of course, that my father is on board?"

The confusion at Spock's reaction began leaking onto Uhura's face. "Of course. That's why I'm here. To greet him with you."

"I am not sure that is the wisest course of action," Spock said.

This time it was Uhura who was taken aback. "And why not? Is there something wrong with me?"

"He is not aware—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the doors slid open. The honor guard snapped to attention in unison. Stepping out, in traditional robes of Vulcan and with a tangible air of importance, was Spock's father. He surveyed the greeting party solemnly, his eyes remarkably clear for one so lined by experience and age.

"Ambassador Sarek." Jim was the first to speak, stepping forward and displaying the Vulcan salute with an ease that could only come from his time with a Vulcan First Officer. "Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, Captain." Sarek returned the gesture. Though they had conversed briefly following the Narada incident, the tension and uncertainty between the two was tangible. Bones watched with a doctor's perception as sweat began to collect on the back of Jim's neck, just above the uniform collar.

"I hope you find your stay agreeable," Jim continued, his tone tinged with an attempted lightness. He swallowed and turned to the rest of the Enterprise party. "Chief Medical Officer Doctor McCoy. You may have met."

"Briefly," Sarek said with a nod.

Bones dipped his head. "Ambassador." He considered raising his hand in the Vulcan salute as well, but he could still feel the trembling in his awkward previous attempt. Better not.

"And this," Jim said, extending an arm to Uhura, "is our head of communications, Lieutenant Uhura. Perhaps you have made her acquaintance as well."

"I have not," Sarek said. Instantly Bones knew something was wrong—the way Sarek looked at her, the hardness and distrust in his eyes, the way his gaze flicked momentarily to Spock...

"Ambassador," Uhura said with a polite smile. "It is an honor to finally meet you. Spock has told me so much about you."

"Has he?" Sarek said coldly.

Bones wanted to say something, to stop Uhura from speaking, but if she caught any of the hostility, she pushed through it. "Why—of course."

"And to what end are you in his company for such periods of time?"

Then it hit Uhura, just as it hit Bones. The Lieutenant's face flushed with realization. Beside her, Spock tightened.

_Sarek hadn't known of their relationship._

Without flinching, Spock finally spoke. His voice was low, his eyes flicking around the room at the other occupants of the deck.

"Father, Nyota and I are...romantically engaged. We have been for some time now."

With the slightest drawing in of the lips, Sarek looked him up and down. "I see."

The tension rose, peaked, and threatened to crush everyone in the immediate vicinity. Spock and Sarek remained locked in a battle of wills, each resistant to the other's stares.

As usual, it was Jim who broke the silence.

"Well, I think this is going to be a very interesting trip." He shifted his weight, the only visible sign of his discomfort reflected in his raised eyebrows.

Also, if Bones wasn't mistaken—was that a hint of amusement in his eyes?

_That little shit._

"Can I show you to your quarters?"

* * *

**Thanks so much for reading; hope to see you back for more! Let me know what you think: of the concept, the execution, etc. I love hearing from you all.**

**Stay tuned for more!**

**-Penn**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the positive feedback, guys! I'm glad you seem to be interested in the concept. I'm hoping that, even though the story is basically the same and most of the dialogue is straight from the episode, this fic will still give a deeper look.**

**Another thing I forgot to mention last time-there will be a lot of POV switching in this story. Different POVs will be separated by line breaks, but there are quite a few characters to get perspectives from. So there's that.**

**Here's chapter two! Enjoy!**

* * *

"Captain's log, Stardate 3842.3. We have departed New Vulcan for the neutral planetoid code-named Babel. Since it is in our sector, the _Enterprise_ has been assigned to transport ambassadors of Federation planets to this vitally important council. The issues of the council are politically complex, the passengers...explosive."

Jim concluded his recording with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his noise in an attempt to cut off the burgeoning headache. Already, only a few days into the voyage, the stress of transporting so many delegates was beginning to weigh on him. He'd never been one for politics, much less _politicians_, and the constant accommodating facade he'd put up was cracking with each furious demand. Just a few hours earlier he'd had to answer to a particularly insistent Andorian, who'd demanded that the entire ship be put on low lighting.

His thoughts were interrupted by the whistle of his personal intercom. Wearily he opened the channel. "Kirk."

"_Keptin_," Chekov's hesitant voice came through, "_ze ambassador from ze New Wulcan colony is ready for ze tour_."

"Thanks, Chekov," Jim said before terminating the connection. He took one last moment to collect himself before standing and straightening his dress uniform.

Ambassador Sarek was no doubt familiar with the ship due to his brief stay, but a tour of the _Enterprise_ was a courtesy offered to each delegate on board. Normally such a task was handled by Spock, who never tired of such mundane tasks. However, given the circumstances, Jim was quick to offer up his own services instead.

Sarek was waiting just outside of his temporary quarters when Jim arrived. The Captain did his best to appear cheerful, but the Vulcan's ever-constant frown was more than a little deflating.

"Ambassador," he said. "Are you ready to begin?"

* * *

Spock was just helping Scotty patch up an old malfunction when Jim entered with Sarek. He glanced up from his work with mild interest.

"This is the engineering section. There are a number of emergency back-up systems for the main controls. Over here are a number of control computers, and—ah, yes, our Chief Engineer, Mr. Scott."

"Quite impressive," Sarek said dryly.

"Yeah," Jim said. "And, as you may know, your son is also quite proficient in this area. He and Mr. Scott have helped us out of many a bind." He winked at Spock, who reacted with the precise opposite of amusement.

"I would imagine," Sarek said.

Jim never faltered. "Mr. Spock? Would you care to explain some of the computer components to our guest?"

Sarek held up a hand. "I gave Spock his first instruction in computers, Captain. He chose to devote his knowledge to Starfleet instead of the Vulcan Science Academy." He looked sharply at Spock. "If you'll excuse me, Captain."

He turned on his heel and exited without another word. Jim was left, slack-jawed in his place.

"I didn't...did I say something wrong?" Jim rounded on Spock.

"Negative, Captain," Spock said stiffly. "My decision to enroll in Starfleet has always been a point of contention between my father and me. It has clearly been re-agonized, due to recent...events."

"You and Uhura?" Jim raised an eyebrow. "Surely he can't judge you on that. I mean, he did marry a human himself."

"Nevertheless," Spock continued smoothly, "it is a deviation from the Vulcan way of life. He has attempted to raise me as a pure Vulcan, perhaps to offset some of the...guilt of marrying my mother." He paused. "Fraternizing with humans as much as I do is...not what he had in mind for me."

Jim scoffed. "He can't control your life. Plus, he knew about you and Uhura after Narada, didn't he?"

The Vulcan dipped his head. "I assume it was his wish that I discontinued my relationship with Lieutenant Uhura. And, perhaps, living with the absence of my mother in these years has made him unsympathetic." He looked insistently at Jim. "It is the Vulcan way of life, Jim. I am his son. It is logical." A beat. "Both of us are rather...stubborn, as you would say."

"A human trait." Jim grinned.

Spock's eyebrows raised slowly. "I would rather you not insult me in such a public setting, Jim."

Rolling his eyes, Jim placed a hand against Spock's bicep. "Lighten up, Spock. All of these years, and you still haven't learned to smile."

A pensive look crossed Spock's face. He looked down at Jim with a curious expression. "Humans smile with such little provocation."

Sensing the conversation was over, Jim sighed. As close as he was with Spock, the workings of the Vulcan mind still boggled him. "Whatever you say, Spock."

With a beep, a voice filtered through the intercom against the far wall. "_Bridge to Captain Kirk_."

Jim raised his eyebrows in a mirror of Spock. "Speak of the devil." He moved to the intercom. "Uhura? What is it?"

The tinny quality of Uhura's voice was regardless tinged with unease. "_Captain, I've picked up some sort of signal. Just a few symbols. Nothing intelligible_."

"Source?"

"_That's what bothers me_," Uhura continued. "_Impossible to locate. There wasn't enough of it. Sensors show nothing in the area. But it was a strong signal, as though it was very close_."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jim responded, "Go to alert status four. Begin long-range scanning. Kirk out."

"Headache, Captain?" Spock said with mild interest.

"What an astute observation, Mr. Spock," Jim said. The fun, he thought, was just beginning.

* * *

**As always, I love feedback, and I appreciate every single review that comes my way. Thanks for reading!**

**-Penn**


	3. Chapter 3

**The story's picking up! Thanks for all of the support. The last chapter was rather short, but from here on out they'll be about this length.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"Captain's log, Stardate 3842." Jim rested his elbows against the desk as he spoke, savoring his rare moment of peace and quiet. "The interplanetary conference will consider the petition of the Coridan planets to be admitted to the Federation. The Coridan system has been claimed by some of the races now aboard our ship as delegates, races who have strong personal reasons for keeping Coridan out of the Federation." He glanced out at the small viewscreen, which allowed him a view of the sweeping stars. "The most pressing problem aboard the Enterprise," he continued, "is to make sure open warfare doesn't break out among the delegates before the conference begins."

He snapped the recorder off and chewed his lip briefly.

"God help us all," he finished, to himself.

* * *

When Jim arrived in the main lounge, delegates of all alien races were milling about idly, sampling a buffet of specially-replicated food and occasionally stopping to exchange pleasantries. Though it was not unusual for Jim to see so many different kinds of people in one place—he had, after all, frequented many an alien bar in his time—to see such a gathering aboard the Enterprise was a bit disorienting. A few of his crewmen mingled with the delegates, and it didn't take him long to spot Bones.

The doctor was deep in conversation with Sarek, who, at best, looked frosty.

"Mister Ambassador," he was saying, "I understand you retired before this conference was called. Forgive my curiosity, but, as a doctor, I'm interested in Vulcan physiology. Isn't it unusual for a Vulcan to retire at your age? After all, you're only..." He scrunched up his face. "...102 years old."

Sarek didn't move a muscle. "102.437 years precisely, Doctor, measured in your years." The sentence was so similar to something Spock might say, Jim was surprised Bones restrained his customary eye-roll. "I had other concerns."

Just as Jim approached the two, another delegate sauntered up. Though humanoid in form, the alien had a distinct porcine nose that seemed squashed against his face. His expression looked eternally contorted into a kind of grimace.

"Ambassador," Jim said, as politely as he could. Try as he might, the name of the delegate escaped him.

However, the alien ignored him. "Sarek of New Vulcan," he said pompously, "do you vote to admit Coridan to the Federation?"

"The vote will not be taken here, Ambassador Gav."

_Ambassador Gav. That's right. Pushy guy._

"My government's instructions will be heard in the council chambers on Babel," Sarek continued.

But Gav was not satisfied. "No! You! How do you vote, Sarek of New Vulcan?"

Before Sarek could answer or Jim could intervene, a tall, lanky, blue Andorian sauntered up. The two antennae on his head quivered as he walked. "Why must you know, Tellarite?" he asked silkily.

Gav looked the newcomer up and down. "In council, his vote carries others. I _will_ know where he stands and why."

"Tellarites do not argue for reasons," Sarek interjected. "They simply argue."

"No, you—"

"Gentlemen," said Jim hastily, stepping into what was sure to be a logical but undoubtedly hot debate, "Ambassador Sarek is quite correct when he points out that this is not the council chamber of Babel. I'm _fully_ aware that the admission of Coridan is a highly debatable issue, but you won't solve it here."

For once, Sarek seemed to approve. "You are correct, Captain. Quite logical."

Jim looked over at Spock with barely-contained smugness. "I believe that was a compliment."

"My apologies, Captain." The Andorian bowed his head.

Gav shot Sarek a fiery glare. "You will excuse me." He stalked away without another word.

After a moment of frigid silence, the Andorian blinked. "Well, following _that_ display…Captain, may I have a word?"

"Of course." Jim's gaze lingered with amusement on Spock for a second longer before he was whisked away.

The tension that ensued had Bones bouncing on his heels. He looked back and forth between Sarek and Spock, waiting for anyone to say anything, before clearing his throat.

"So…Spock. I've always suspected that you were a little more human than you let on. Mr. Sarek, I know about the rigorous training of the Vulcan youth, but, tell me, did he ever run and play like the human children? Even in secret?"

A nerve struck in Sarek's expression. "We did grant him ownership of a pet sehlat, which he seemed quite fond of."

"Oh!" Bones said genially. His eyebrows scrunched. "What's a sehlat?"

Sarek's gaze turned to Spock, and even his Vulcan regard was scathing. "I believe Amanda used to call it—on human terms—something of a 'teddy bear.'"

It all hit Bones at once. The realization of Sarek's words dawned on him, and he felt a new, unbridled joy bubbling in his chest. "A _teddy bear_?"

Apparently satisfied, Sarek tilted his head. "Excuse me, Doctor. It has been a rather long day."

He departed without another word, leaving Bones beaming and Spock deeply disgruntled.

"A teddy bear," Bones repeated. He shook his head in amazement. "God, I never thought I'd live to see this day." A burst of laughter. "A _teddy bear_."

"Not precisely, Doctor," Spock said icily. "On Vulcan, the teddy bears are alive, and they have six-inch fangs."

The Vulcan brushed past Bones, who paid him no heed.

Yes, the doctor would happy for a very long time.

* * *

Jim entered the bridge with a swiftness and ease learned from countless high-pressure situations. Following close behind, Spock seemed, at worst, mildly perturbed about the latest encounter with his father. However, the duties of the _Enterprise_ called him; Jim noticed the almost-imperceptible steadiness wash over the Vulcan as he approached his station.

"Report," Jim said, tearing his eyes away and settling in his chair.

Chekov was the first to respond. "Sensors are registering an unidentified wessel pacing us, sir. A small ship. It's been there five minutes, remaining outside phaser range at extreme limit of sensors."

Jim nodded. "And all duty personnel are on Yellow Alert?"

The Russian nodded. "Affirmative, Keptin, as you requested."

"Try and keep it quiet," Jim said. "Don't alarm the passengers."

Again, Chekov bobbed his head eagerly. "Noted, sir."

Now Jim swung his chair around to Spock, who was already deep in his readouts. "Identification, Spock?"

"Sensors indicate the size of a scout ship, but the configuration is unfamiliar." The Vulcan frowned. "Most unusual."

"Does she answer a hail?"

Uhura turned to face Jim, ponytail swinging. "I've tried all frequencies and hooked in the universal translator. No response."

"Maintain translator broadcast. Check records for authorized ships."

The Lieutenant nodded her understanding. Jim was already spinning in his chair.

"Starfleet records no authorized vessel in this quadrant except ours," Spock said, on cue.

Jim squinted out at the stars. "Care to guess what she is?

"Guess, Captain?" Spock's voice was stained with confusion. "I shall need more data for my estimate."

At that, Jim rolled his eyes. He turned his attention once more to Chekov. "Plot course to intercept that vessel. I want to see what she looks like up close."

"Aye, sir."

Without warning, the vessel outside jerked to the side and swung to a new course. With a growing pit of unease in his stomach, Jim realized that the ship was now approaching them, heading directly toward the bridge.

"Mr. Spock…" he said, apprehension creeping past his trained collected exterior.

"Heading toward us at high warp speeds," Spock informed him.

"Great," said Jim. "Ready main phasers."

"Phasers armed and ready, sir."

As the tension mounted around him, Jim clenched the arm rests of the command chair. Without looking, he knew that the rest of the bridge crew were on the edge of their seats, all quietly expectant.

The thing about life-or-death situations: they never got easier.

"Steady," he said, possibly more to himself than to his crew. "Steady."

* * *

**So the mystery begins! Thanks again for reading, and, as always, please review! It lets me know what you like and what I need to tweak-plus, I just love hearing from you all.**

**My question for you this time is-do you like this frequency of updating (once a day, early evening)? Would you rather a little more time between updates? Always curious.**

**Till next time,**

**-Penn**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four, coming up! I really appreciate all of you readers-coming up, the plot thickens!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Sarek was expecting fewer people in the lounge—the gathering had dispersed shortly after the Captain had departed—but it was of no concern. He sidled up to one of the beverage tables and poured himself an orange drink, drawing a small capsule from within his robes. He swallowed the pill discreetly and set the drink aside. It would be picked up at a later time, he was sure.

He turned around, and the presence of Ambassador Gav nearly startled him.

"Vulcan, I would speak to you."

Sarek released a tight sigh. "Yes, it would seem unavoidable."

Gav puffed himself up. _An attempt to assert power_, Sarek thought. Though the alien was much shorter than Sarek, he made up for it in girth.

"How do you vote on the Coridan admission?"

"You seem unwilling to wait for the council meeting, Ambassador," Sarek said with barely concealed annoyance. He blinked. "No matter. We favor admission."

Also making up for the Vulcan's quiet demeanor, Gav's voice boomed through the lounge. "You favor? Why?"

As if sucked through a vacuum, the room went silent.

If he experienced any discomfort at the new attention, Sarek didn't show it. His eyes barely moved as he replied, "Under Federation law, Coridan can be protected and its wealth administered for the benefit of its people."

Gav scoffed. "That's well for you. Vulcan has no mining interest."

"Coridan has a nearly unlimited wealth of dilithium crystals," Sarek responded, "but it is under-populated and unprotected. This invites illegal mining operations."

At this, Gav drew back. "Illegal? You _accuse_ us?"

Vulcans were not ones to engage in argument, nor were they prone to emotional accusations. It was with the plain ring of truth and logic that Sarek returned, "Some of your ships have been carrying Coriday dilithium crytals."

"You call us thieves, then?"

The Tellarite lunged at Sarek, arms reaching for the Vulcan's throat. They grappled for a few seconds, but it was clear immediately that Sarek had the upper hand—both literally and figuratively. He pushed Gav away easily and the smaller alien fell back against a table.

"I implore you, Ambassador," Sarek said, "not to make this a personal matter. We are guests aboard this starship, and I would prefer to refrain from argument while under the graciousness of the Captain."

Gav sneered. "Of course you would," he said. He looked sharply, pointedly, at Sarek. "Understand, you will pay for your slander, Sarek."

"Threats are illogical," said Sarek coolly. "And payment is usually expensive."

* * *

"Steady," Jim said. His knuckles were white on the armrests of his chair. The ship before them approached with unthinkable speed, seemingly set on a collision course with the bridge.

As much as Jim's instincts told him to fire, he held back. He felt the eyes of the crew on him, waiting, but he held firm.

He was sweating plenty, though.

"Captain—" Uhura's plainly apprehensive voice reached him. He acknowledged it, brushed it off.

The ship was close enough now that surely the resulting explosion from phaser fire would affect the Enterprise—

Then, at the last moment, the ship veered off course and whizzed past the bridge into empty space. Unharmed, the bridge crew released a collective breath. Jim's grip released slightly, and he wiped a trickle of sweat from the back of his neck.

As usual, it was Spock who broke the silence. And, as usual, his tone was not colored with anxiety, but curious fascination.

"Interesting," he said.

"_What's _interesting?" Jim said irritably.

Spock deflected the remark. "They were travelling at approximately warp ten."

"Yes, that is interesting," Jim said dully. "Back on original course. Mr. Chekov, report on intruder's movements."

"Captain," Uhura said from behind him. "Starfleet acknowledges report on our situation and confirms no authorized Federation vessel in this quadrant."

"Back on original heading, Keptin," Chekov added. "Ze intruder changed course immediately after we did. It is paralleling us again."

Kirk settled back into his chair, feeling the last stages of adrenaline seeping away into the familiar embrace. "Well, it seems we have ourselves a shadow. Faster, more maneuverable, and unidentified. Mr. Spock, full analysis of sensor readings. I want to know who that intruder is."

As Spock nodded his understanding, the intercom beside Jim beeped. "_Security to Captain Kirk."_

_What now?_ "Kirk here."

"_Lieutenant Joseph, sir. I'm on deck eleven, section A3. I've just found one of the Tellarites murdered. I think it's the ambassador himself, sir."_

The news sank in, but it failed to produce much impact after the recent adrenaline rush.

"Great," Jim muttered. "I'll be right down." He ended the transmission and opened a new channel. "Kirk to sickbay."

"_McCoy. What's up, Jim?"_

"We need you, Bones. One of the Tellarites has just been found. Dead."

There was a moment of shocked silence on the other end. Then: _"Well, shit. I'll be right there."_

Jim relayed the location of the murder, then switched off the communicator. "Spock, with me." He stood, and Spock was with him in an instant, already two steps ahead. They strode into the turbolift, where the world was sucked into a deceptive silence.

"Murder, Captain?" Spock said. "Do you have any evidence to suggest a perpetrator?"

"No, Spock," Jim said, rubbing a hand over his face. "If I did, do you think I'd be letting the murderer walk freely through the ship right now?"

"Unclear," Spock said with a frown. "Often your motivations and actions elude me due to their unpredictability."

As they stepped off the turbolift onto deck eleven, they were stopped in their tracks by a very annoyed looking Andorian, the same Jim had spoken to in the lounge. The blue-skinned alien furrowed his brows, antennae vibrating.

"Captain," he said. "I've been searching for you."

"It isn't hard to make a deduction on my whereabouts," Jim said, peeved. "Captains are pretty fond of the bridge—if not a long sleep in their own quarters." He let out a tired sigh. "Listen, we can't stop. If you'll just—"

"I expected better conditions aboard this starship," the Andorian interjected. "It is quite unprofessional to be exposed to such irrational violence."

A jolt of panic shot through Jim. Surely word of the murder hadn't traveled so fast?

"I…I don't take your meaning." Forget the unknown ship that had nearly crashed into them—word of a murder would undoubtedly spread chaos through the delegates.

The Andorian gave him a sharp, haughty look, his white eyebrows lifting slightly. "I _mean_ that the confrontation between Ambassadors Gav and Sarek was entirely off-putting. I expected better control on your ship, and I, for one, feel unsafe."

Jim scrunched up his face in confusion, holding up a hand before the alien could say another word. "Wait, wait, wait. What confrontation?"

"It must have been…not more than an hour ago," the Andorian said. "Don't tell me you haven't heard?" At Jim's blank expression, the anger returned. "How am I expected to feel safe when the guests aboard this ship are attacking each other, _threatening_ each other, and even the _Captain_ is unaware of the danger? I say…"

Jim and Spock exchanged a quick glance. "Sir," Spock said finally, "I assure you, we have the situation under control. You are quite safe here aboard the _Enterprise._ We shall respond to your concerns accordingly."

The Andorian huffed. "Well, thank you very much."

He looked none too satisfied, but this new information pressed on Jim with renewed urgency. He dipped his head. "We've really got to be going."

The Andorian muttered a few more indecipherable words, but Jim and Spock managed to slip past. Their footsteps in the deserted hallway were quicker now, tension driving them forward. Jim knew, without a mind-meld, that both he and his First Officer were thinking the same thing.

"Spock…" he ventured.

The Vulcan cut him off with the familiar measured passivity. "Captain, now is not the time for assumptions."

They rounded the corner, and before them was a scene of calamity.

Two security personnel and Bones were huddled around a Jefferies tube, every motion on edge. Hanging upside down from the tube, half-covered, was none other than Ambassador Gav. The grimace that he usually wore was plastered now in a more twisted perpetuity

"Bones," Jim said in way of greeting. "How was he killed?"

No time for pleasantries. "His neck was broken," Bones said. Then he added, "By an expert."

"Explain."

"Well," Bones began, looking hesitantly up at Spock, "from the nature and location of the break, I'd say the killer knew exactly where to apply pressure to snap the neck instantly."

Again, Jim's face twisted in confusion. "Who aboard this ship would have that knowledge?

"Vulcans." Spock's answer was instantaneous. Jim looked up at him, but Spock was unfazed. "On Vulcan, the method is called tal-shaya. It was considered a merciful form of execution in ancient times."

"Spock," Jim said gently, cautiously. "Gav and your father…"

Bones looked back and forth between the two of them, the stress and heaviness of a dead body evident in his expression. "What? What is it?"

"The two were involved in a somewhat violent confrontation approximately an hour ago," Spock answered. "There were, apparently, threats involved."

Jim glanced at Bones, who returned the look with apprehension. "You realize, Spock," the Captain said hesitantly, "that this makes your father the prime suspect in this murder?"

As always, Spock remained blank-faced, but Jim thought he saw a glimmer of unease deep in the Vulcan's eyes. "I do."

* * *

**Murder and mayhem! Things are only going to pick up from here, friends.**

**So, there hasn't been a whole lot of response for this story. I'm still going to be posting because, heck, I have the whole thing written, but I'm not sure there's much interest. Anything you'd like to see?**

**As usual, thanks to those who did review-I really do appreciate it! Next chapter will be out tomorrow!**

**Till next time,**

**-Penn**


	5. Chapter 5

**Oh my goodness, loves, thanks so much for the wonderful response for that last chapter. Sorry for my dejected little note at the end; I was just having a bad day and feeling a bit discouraged. But it's all better, and you all warmed my heart. So thanks.**

**Just for that, here's chapter 5 a bit early! Mysteries everywhere!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"You're agreeing to the fact that your father may be the killer?" Jim asked, gaping.

Spock shifted his weight. "Vulcans do not approve of violence."

Jim frowned. "So you're saying he _couldn't _have done it."

"Not at all, Captain," the Vulcan said. "I'm merely saying it would have been illogical to kill without reason."

"Well, from the sounds of it, it seemed he may have had a damn good reason," Jim muttered. "He could kill if he had the motive?"

Spock dipped his head. "If there was a reason, my father is quite capable of killing. Logically and efficiently."

"Is there any other way for a Vulcan?" Bones groaned.

Jim waved a hand to silence him. "Well, the only _logical_ course of action now would be to question him. Surely he wouldn't object to that?"

"I do not believe he would be opposed to any such measures," Spock said. "Unless, of course, he had something to hide."

"Of course," Jim murmured.

Within five minutes they were at Sarek's quarters pressing the buzzer insistently.

"Ambassador?" Jim called. There was dead silence on the other side of the door. "Ambassador, may I have a word?"

He knew it was pointless, but he pressed the buzzer once more. At the silence that followed, he shot Spock an apprehensive glance.

"It appears the Ambassador is not here," Spock said. "I believe that our best course of action is—"

"Captain Kirk." At that moment, the Ambassador himself strode around the corner, stiff-jointed and unreadable. He glanced around at small party still huddled by his door. "Did you wish to see me?"

"Ambassador," Jim said, "the Tellarite, Gav, has been murdered."

"His neck was broken," Bones was quick to add, "by what Spock describes as tal-shaya."

"Indeed?" The Ambassador did not appear startled in the slightest. "How interesting."

"Yes, Ambassador," Jim said dryly. "What were you doing this past hour?"

"Ah," Sarek said. "You believe me to be a suspect."

"That's right." Jim set his jaw tightly. "If you would, please, answer the question."

"It's quite alright, Captain," Sarek said. "It is only logical to accuse me." Jim only just caught Bones' private eye-roll as the Ambassador swept past them and led the party into his quarters. "I was in private meditation. Spock will tell you that such meditation is a personal experience, not to be discussed with Earthmen." His face twisted almost imperceptibly, and he stepped heavily forward.

"That's a very convenient excuse," said Jim, eyeing Sarek as the Vulcan moved to a table. Sarek leaned against the edge, his face adopting an unusual pallor. "Ambassador?"

"I…" Sarek choked out the word. Before he could say anything else, he collapsed.

The three visitors sprang into action. Bones dropped to his knees, tricorder in hand in mere seconds. Jim and Spock both leapt to the Ambassador's side, ready to assist in whatever means necessary.

"Bones," Jim said as the doctor examined his readings. "What's wrong with him?"

"It's hard to say with Vulcan physiology," Bones responded, "but I think it has something to do with his cardiovascular system."

Jim's gaze shot up. "Can you help him?"

Bones returned the look. "That I don't know either."

* * *

The bridge was tainted with a hint of unease when Jim and Spock returned from sickbay, but Jim brushed it off with his usual flair.

"Just a standard order of business on the _Enterprise_," he said with a wave of his hand, springing lightly to his command chair. "Now, someone tell me we have some good news."

As Jim signed off on reports, Spock pressured the line between consciousness and complete immersion in his work. Though they had occasionally failed him in the past—Jim's death, for one instance—the Vulcan mind rules were enough to keep his emotions detached from his body. His senses tingled, but he felt the welcoming submersion of concentration as he faced his computers.

That is, until he was interrupted by a soft hand on his arm.

"Spock."

"I am nearly finished with my readings, Lieutenant, if you would wait one more minute."

If Uhura was affronted by the use of her rank, she masked it well. At least, Spock failed to notice a change—then again, the subtleties of human expression tended to go over his head. "I'm sorry about your father."

Spock took his eyes from the screen for a moment. "You have heard of his situation?"

Uhura smiled apologetically. "Rumors spread pretty fast when something like this happens. I knew they were true when I saw your expression coming on to the bridge."

This time Spock moved completely away from his computer, staring at his companion's rueful face with dismay. "I am quite opposed to your claims that I have brought my personal concerns to the bridge. I displayed no such emotion; I am fully capable of functioning without them."

There was inexplicable sadness in Uhura's expression as she picked at a spot on his sleeve. "It was your eyes, Spock," she said. "It's always your eyes." At his lack of response, she tilted her head. "Aren't you worried about him?"

"Worry is a human emotion," Spock answered simply. "I accept what has happened." Uhura opened her mouth, likely with a purely emotional response, but Spock cut her off by angling sharply to the center of the bridge. "Captain—I have sensor readings of tri-tritanium from the alien ship's hull."

Uhura quieted, a troubling response Spock would have to analyze further, and Jim sprang up to join the group at the console.

"The ship's hull seems to have a high density level or is cloaked against sensor probes," Spock continued. "It is manned, but sensors cannot make out specifics."

"I see," Jim said, scratching the back of his neck idly. "Well, the Romulans have nothing like it. Definitely not the Federation or the neutral planets. What about the Klingons?"

The Vulcan shook his head. "It is unlikely it is one of theirs."

The Captain shot him an unusually exasperated glance. "Who, then?"

"Captain?" Spock turned to find that Uhura had returned to her post during the conversation. She was frowning and holding two fingers up to her earpiece. "I picked up the last part of a transmission. Just like that other one. I put the recorder and the directional locator on it immediately."

Jim gave a sharp nod. "Chekov, directional locator indicates source bearing twenty seven, mark eight."

At his own console, Chekov bobbed his head. "It's ze intruder ship, sir."

Jim was practically oozing confidence now, if such thing could be said. Being rather fond of the Captain as a human being, Spock could now identify the minute signs of ease with which Jim fell into place as commander. "Switch recorder to Mr. Spock's station for decode, Lieutenant."

Uhura pressed a few buttons, then frowned.

As fond as Spock was of Uhura as well, he knew that look. It wasn't promising.

"Captain, the directional locator…" She shook her head, glancing up toward Jim with obvious mystification. "It's indicating the reception point somewhere within the body of this ship."

The few seconds of quiet that followed were heavy enough to crush an average space shuttle. All personnel on the bridge took on a surreal kind of stillness. Dozens of attentions, if not physically, turned to the Captain.

Jim swallowed. "A personal receiver?" He finally said. "Somebody on board is in contact with that vessel?"

"Possibly, Captain." Spock looked back toward his reading. "But I cannot decode this transmission."

Jim whirled on him. "Why not?"

Now it was Spock's turn to shake his head. "It is in no known code. There's no detectable pattern. No standard references apply."

With a sigh, Jim chewed his lip absently. "Are there any conclusions possible from the information?"

"Only negative. It fits none of our computer records, and it is alien."

Jim let out another irritated breath and strode to the turbolift. "Murder? Someone out there playing tag?" Clearly disgusted, he looked back. "Lieutenant Uhura, you've got your sensor on a wide beam. You've established a receiver on board this vessel. Tighten your field to the interior of this ship."

"Yes, sir."

"If that alien vessel starts transmitting again, I want to know who on board the Enterprise is receiving."

"Aye, Captain."

"Good. Spock." Jim threw a meaningful glance the Vulcan's direction, and, with reluctance, Spock followed him to the turbolift.

"I'm sure Doctor McCoy has an update," Jim said as the turbolift began its descent. When Spock didn't respond, Jim pushed further. "About your father?"

"Yes, Captain, I took your meaning." Spock kept his face blank. "I do not believe it is necessary for me to leave my post—"

"He's your father, Spock," Jim said tightly. "Now, don't argue."

Spock nodded and reluctantly fell into stride when the turbolift opened.

When they reached sickbay, Bones was hovering near a biobed, which contained a frightfully pale but alert Sarek. Spock glanced at his father only briefly, focusing instead on subduing the twinges of emotion in his chest.

"How is he?" Jim was questioning.

Bones shook his head. "As far as I can tell from instrument readings, our prime suspect has a malfunction in one of the heart valves. It's similar to a heart attack in a human. But with Vulcan physiology, it's impossible to tell without an operation." He turned to his patient. "Mr. Sarek, have you had any previous attacks?"

The elder Vulcan paused briefly, then said, "Yes. There were three others. My physician prescribed Benjisidrine for the condition."

Different circumstances might have warranted further speculation or concern, but Jim pushed through with the directness of a starship captain. "Ambassador, when did you have these attacks?"

"Two before we left Vulcan," Sarek said, "and the third a few hours ago. I was on the observation deck. When the Tellarite was murdered, I was quite incapacitated."

"There were no witnesses?" The skepticism in Jim's tone was quite obvious.

"None."

Spock took that moment to step in. "Doctor, do you propose surgery for the heart defect?"

In an unusual display of uncertainty, Bones shifted his weight and crossed his arms. "I'm not sure. It's tough enough on a human. On a Vulcan, an ordinary operation is out of the question because of the construction of the Vulcan heart."

"I suggest that a cryogenic open-heart procedure would be the logical approach," Spock offered.

Sarek nodded his assent. "Yes, unquestionably."

"Bones?" Jim said, turning to the doctor. "What about it?"

Bones rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm glad somebody's asking me something around here." He scratched his arm absently. "Well, the procedure they're discussing would require tremendous amounts of blood for the patient."

At that moment, Nurse Chapel stepped into the room, one arm wrapped around a PADD. "Doctor?"

"What is it, Christine?" Bones said. "Did you check the blood bank?"

To Spock, it seemed that the Nurse clutched the PADD just a bit tighter. "I did. There isn't enough Vulcan blood and plasma to even begin such an operation of this type."

Jim waved a hand. "There are other Vulcans aboard."

However, Sarek cut him off immediately. "My blood type is T-negative. Somewhat rare, even for a Vulcan."

Bones' eyebrows practically shot to the ceiling. "Yes, I'd say that's rare."

"My blood type is T-negative." The entire room collectively turned to younger Vulcan as he spoke. He regarded them all with cool rationality, dismissing the looks of horror and disbelief he got.

Nurse Chapel was the first to speak. "We've run a number of blood tests on Mr. Spock. It isn't true Vulcan blood either. It has human blood elements in it."

Spock dismissed her easily. "It should be possible to filter out the human factors."

In a familiar display of emotion, Bones looked ready to burst. "Even you can't give that much blood, Spock. It would kill you."

Jim put up a hand to try and sedate the wildly-gesticulating doctor. "Bones—"

The doctor waved him away. "Jim, you've got to understand the chances are extremely small to find a way to produce sufficient T-negative blood."

"Indeed," Spock said, raising an eyebrow, "I would estimate the odds—"

"Please don't," Jim groaned.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! We're about halfway through now, and next time, guess what's coming...yes, that's right, the whump that you all seem to be craving. It is beginning.**

**Thank you so much for stopping by, and, as always, I love hearing your thoughts!**

**Till next time,**

**-Penn**


	6. Chapter 6

**Welp, here's what you've all been waiting for-the whump is on the loose! No one is safe! Chapter six, coming right up.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"_Doctor_," Spock insisted.

"I see it, Spock," Bones said irritably, "but that was a Rigelian."

"Rigelian physiology is very similar to Vulcan."

"Similar is not good enough," Bones said, slamming his hand forcefully on the table. "It's still experimental."

The two were poring over computer files in Bones' office, studying case after case of unusual surgeries. This particular case, a complicated surgery involving a Rigelian heart surgery, appeared the most promising. However, textbook cases and reality were much different, especially when it was one of Bones' best friends—though he'd never admit such to Spock.

"It does look promising," Spock prodded gently.

Bones ran a hand through his hair. He had been permitted to change back to standard medical attire after the hours of formal wear, but the pressure was just as suffocating as the previous outfit had been. "Spock, we would need such great amounts of blood that, even if the drug worked on the Vulcans as well as a Rigelian, which I'm doubtful, it would still drain Sarek to a critical level."

"I consider the safety factor low, but acceptable."

_Goddamn Vulcans_. "Plus the fact that I've never operated on a Vulcan before. Oh, I've studied the anatomical types. I know where all the organs are. But that's a lot different from actual surgical experience. So if I don't kill him with the operation, the drug probably will."

Just as he was completing his sentence, the door to the office swished open, and in walked Uhura. Her face was creased with worry, but the lines deepened as she looked between Bones and Spock.

"Kirk filled me in on some of the details before he left," she said. "I came here to check on you." She frowned at Bones. "What is this drug you're talking about?"

Though Uhura's presence was usually enough to calm the doctor, he still grumbled uneasily. "A chemical stimulant to speed up reproduction and replacement of blood in the body. It's only experimental."

"It has been used successfully on test subjects on Rigel Five," Spock reminded him once more.

"It places enormous strain on the spleen and liver," Bones countered. "In Sarek's condition, it would kill him."

Uhura winced, but Spock, as usual, proceeded to his next point with an ease that suggested he'd known it all along. "Miss Chapel? I underwent a physical examination last week. Would you pull the records, please?"

The Nurse, sitting at a desk in the corner, looked up. "Already pulled. You're perfectly healthy, Mr. Spock."

"What has that got—"

"You're going to use it on yourself," Uhura said, with a strange sort of stillness. "A transfusion from you to your father."

Spock did his best impression of a Vulcan shrug. "It would seem the only answer."

For a few seconds, Bones could not believe what he was hearing. He stared, slack-jawed, until he was able to formulate a reasonable response. "It could damage you internally," he said finally. "It could kill you. I'm sorry, Spock. I can't sanction it."

"And I refuse to allow it," Uhura added, sticking out her chin. "I won't let you risk your life, especially if there's no guarantee it will save your father's."

"With all due respect, Nyota, it is not in your power to administrate my decisions," he said frostily. "As for you, Doctor, you are automatically condemning Sarek to death by not allowing me to offer my services. If you do not operate, he will die. You now have the means to perform the operation; I am volunteering myself as the blood donor." He looked sharply to Uhura, face dangerously hard. "Is the Captain back to his post?"

"He said he was going on break when I talked to him," Uhura said stonily. "Said he had a headache."

Spock dipped his head. "I will be at my post."

He stalked out without another word.

* * *

The Captain was not, strictly speaking, on break. He was, in fact, fighting for his life.

His mind was still processing what had happened; one minute he'd been leaving the sickbay with a nasty headache, the next he was on the floor with the weight of another being on top of him.

His instincts kicked in immediately, and he thrust a sharp elbow back into the offending creature. At the slight purchase he found there, he rolled. Sprawling backward onto empty white floor, he picked himself up and faced his attacker.

The assailant sneered back, blue features twisting in malice, white eyebrows lowered, antennae shivering.

The Andorian. _Of course_.

The fighting instincts Jim had learned in his bar education kicked in, and he easily sidestepped the next charge that the Andorian made. He delivered a punch in response, but was caught in the shins by a nasty kick. As he buckled, another tackle came, tossing him back to the hard ground.

Immediately hands were at his throat, crushing the little breath he had out of him. He choked a few times, clawing at the hands, black fuzz accumulating at the edges of his vision.

_No_, he thought. _This is not how I will die. Not ten feet from my own quarters._

A new surge of life rose up within him, and he next made a pass at the Andorian's eyes. The gesture was enough for the alien to relinquish his grip, and Jim took advantage by rolling sideways once more. The two tumbled to the ground, landing hard and breathless.

With halting, gasping breaths, Jim clambered to his feet. The Andorian did the same across from him, flashing another one of those evil smiles. God, Jim hated that.

Suddenly a knife was in the Andorian's hand, gleaming amidst the white walls and bright lights.

_Bad. Bad._

The Andorian rushed forward, knife out, and Jim leapt to the side. Another stab, and he realized he was up against a wall. Also bad. He looked at the Andorian with wide eyes, assessing, calculating. At the sight of that knife, too close to him for comfort and aimed directly at his heart, his reflexes went into overload. Everything was brought into sharp focus around him.

The Andorian cut forward, and Jim sprang to the side. Then, in an instant, the knife rushed toward him again. He barely managed to leap sideways as the knife sliced the air. He took the opportunity to kick up, boot connecting with the Andorian's hand and sending the knife flying backward. Shrieking, the Andorian threw a punch. It connected, and Jim stumbled backward, clutching his stinging cheekbone.

The fight was not over. In his increased awareness, he saw the Andorian whirl around, searching again for the knife. As usual, Jim acted on instinct.

He hurtled forward, found purchase on the floor, and tackled the alien around the midsection.

In retrospect, it was likely a bad move. They both hit the unrelenting ground with bone-quaking force. There was a crack, a buzzing, and all at once Jim found himself staring at a spinning ceiling. Dazed, clutching his now likely-concussed head, he dragged himself to his knees. He fought nausea as the pressure in his head grew to overwhelming levels.

_That's not going to help the headache._

He crawled forward a few feet, thoroughly disoriented, struggling to rise.

Then a searing pain, quite unlike the concussed fuzziness in his head, centered at his lower back. It was fire, a scorching rip through his skin. He cried out in pain before turning to face the Andorian, who was also on his knees.

It took one twist of the arm, one chop to the neck, and the Andorian was laid out flat on the ground. Unconscious.

For now.

Rising shakily to his feet, Jim assessed his injuries. Bruised, concussed—the pain in his back. Feeling rather wobbly and distinctly flushed, he leaned against the wall by the intercom punched it with his whole fist. "Bridge." He sucked in some air. "Spock."

A moment of fuzziness, then, "_Spock here._"

It was getting increasingly harder to breathe. That wasn't supposed to happen, was it? Wincing, realizing slowly just how much pain he was actually in, Jim cautiously reached behind him to feel his back. His fingers met wetness, and an excruciating stinging electrified his body. When he looked at his fingers, they were drenched in blood.

_Shit. Shit shit shit._

He was losing his grip on consciousness rapidly, but he struggled with all of his might to keep the darkness at bay. The Andorian could wake up any minute; he had to remain awake, or he'd be finished off for good—

"I'm on deck five," he said, carefully measuring his words for some semblance of protocol, "near my quarters. I've been…attacked by an Andorian." He exhaled, and it came out as a kind of whine. The fire was dragging him under, the hallway losing focus and swaying in dizzying patterns. "Security…security team…"

Consciousness failed him at once. His eyes rolled up in his head and he slid down the wall, leaving a bloody handprint in his wake. The increasingly concerned mantra of "_Captain? Captain?"_ echoed through the empty corridor, but its intended recipient was already too far gone, blood seeping out incessantly into the pristine white corridor.

* * *

**Muahaha, the first major cliffhanger of the story! You know how I love those.**

**Thanks so much for the awesome response to the last chapter; it's so fun to hear your theories and your opinions on the characters, especially readers who have not seen the episode and don't know what's coming next. Keep it up, it makes my day :]**

**Thank you all for reading!**

**Till next time,**

**-Penn**


	7. Chapter 7

**Woohoo, we made it past the bad cliffhanger, and we're diving right into the thick of things! Thanks for sticking around-more whump ahead, and things are not getting any easier for the crew.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"Captain?" Spock said. The irrationality of primal fear began creeping up inside of him. Jim had been known to be delayed in responses, but the strain in his Captain's voice, the way he faded into nothing but the static of the intercom, bred an urgency in Spock that he couldn't control.

A worried lump formed in Spock's throat as he switched channels. "Spock to Sickbay. Doctor McCoy?"

"_If you're proposing that treatment again, Spock—"_

"Doctor McCoy," Spock said, effectively cutting him off, "I just received a distressed call from the Captain. I believe he is injured. Please meet me near the Captain's quarters with all due haste."

The other line was snapped off abruptly with a curse, and immediately Spock flew from his chair to the turbolift. Uhura turned worriedly to him as he passed, but he ran by without acknowledging.

The scene was eerily familiar, he would later muse. A concerned comm call, the running through the _Enterprise_ halls, the sinking feeling of dread. Images of an irradiated face behind glass gained unwanted purchase in his mind.

He tried to keep his breaths even as he rounded the corner that would take him to the Captain's quarters. The passageways were strangely deserted, whether intentionally or by unfortunate circumstance.

To use a completely illogical human expression, Spock's heart skipped when he saw the scene before him, and the beginnings of nausea rose up.

Halfway down the passageway, in heaps, were two still figures. The first was Andorian, sprawled in the center of the floor with clothes and white hair disheveled. The second, distinctly more troubling, was undoubtedly the form of the Captain. He was lying facedown against one of the walls, directly below the still-working intercom, his arm flung out awkwardly in front of him. He was clearly out cold, and even from this distance Spock could tell his breathing was shallow.

The most disturbing part, however, was the alarmingly dark shade of red that covered the entire lower half of his shirt and smeared the walls and floor beside him.

As Spock took in the scene, all senses flaring on overdrive, the Andorian in the center of the hall shifted, rose to his knees. Seemingly unaware of the Vulcan's presence at the end of the hall, he glanced to the unconscious Jim, then crawled to a bloody knife that was abandoned just beside him.

His intentions were all too clear, and Spock bridged the distance in less than two seconds. Before the Andorian could properly achieve a look of shock, he was nerve-pinched back into oblivion. The knife clanged to the floor, and Spock kicked it as far away as he could from its intended target.

The target in question was now breathing extremely laboriously. Spock kneeled down beside Jim and placed a hand on his wrist.

"Captain." No response. "Doctor McCoy will be here soon," he said quietly, more to himself than to the unconscious man before him. "Jim."

On cue, the sound of skidding shoes brought Spock's head snapping up. Face pale, Bones sprinted to the crime scene. "Is he—?"

"He is breathing, though with increasing difficulty," Spock said. He kept his hand on Jim's wrist as Bones stumbled to the intercom.

"McCoy to sickbay. We need a gurney to Captain's quarters. _Now._"

He punched the intercom off and sank to his knees beside Spock, medical instruments already in hand. Though Bones muttered his usual curses and waved his instruments with familiar frantic speed, Spock noted with curiosity the ashen shade the doctor's face had become.

"That damn Andorian stabbed him," he growled, dropping his tricorder and putting to fingers to Jim's neck. "Must've been an ambush."

Just then two nurses appeared around the corner, gurney in tow. They wordlessly helped Bones maneuver an unresponsive Jim onto it, and the Captain's wrist was wrenched from Spock's grasp.

"Prep for surgery," Bones barked at the nurses. "I need an oxygen mask." As the nurses began hurtling down the hallway, Bones took one moment to glance back at Spock. "I'll comm you." The implication was clear, and a brief vulnerability and understanding passed between the two of them. Then Bones was off, leaving Spock standing in the red-smeared hallway with an insensible Andorian to the side.

* * *

An hour later, Spock sat, on temporary leave, in an empty lounge of the _Enterprise_. He'd been sitting in his seat, staring at a patch of blank wall, for an hour now.

It was a struggle he'd had since birth: fighting logic.

"Captain's log, stardate 3843.4. First Officer Spock in temporary command," he said finally, numbly pressing the recording device on. "The Captain has been critically wounded by one of the delegates to the Babel conference. The ship is on alert status. We are still being followed by the intruder vessel." He clicked off the recorder stiffly.

Suddenly the door to the lounge swished open. Uhura's face relaxed when she saw him at the table, and she moved to the chair opposite him.

"I was looking for you," she said, drawing up one of her knees and wrapping her arms protectively around it. "How's Kirk?"

"He has suffered a severe knife wound at the hands of an Andorian delegate," Spock said in monotone. "At this time, I am waiting for Doctor McCoy's call."

Uhura winced. "How long has it been?"

"57.3 minutes," Spock said, then clamped his mouth shut.

A beat. Then: "Are you okay?"

Spock kept his eyes fixed on the wall. "I am fully prepared to accept whatever duties follow."

"Spock," Uhura sighed. "Look at me." He finally did, locking on to her vulnerable, human eyes. "Your father is seriously ill and your best friend has been attacked. It's normal to be scared."

_How do you choose not to feel?_

Spock paused. It was often a mystery, trying to unravel the enigma known as Nyota Uhura. He looked at her and wondered what she saw now in his eyes.

"I apologize for being short with you, Nyota," he said at last. "I realize that I may have been compromised by recent events."

"Like your father learning about our relationship?" Uhura said quietly.

Spock's eyes flicked downward. "Yes."

"You don't need his approval," Uhura said gently. "I know how much you respect him, but you chose your own path when you joined Starfleet."

"He does not believe I should be familiarizing myself with humans on such an intimate level," Spock explained. "He believes it has subtracted from my identity as a Vulcan."

"Maybe," Uhura conceded, "but it has also added to your identity as a human. As a _person_." She paused, resting a hand on one of his knees. "From what I've seen, your relationship with me—your relationship with Kirk, with McCoy—it's made you better. If your father can't see that, he's missing something." Spock kept his eyes lowered, and Uhura shifted. "I'm sorry…if that was inappropriate."

"I—" Spock began, but before he could say anything, his communicator beeped.

"_McCoy to Spock. Spock?_"

"Yes, Doctor," Spock said, picking up his communicator. "What is the status of the Captain?"

There was a heavy sigh, and Spock could practically see the doctor running a hand through his hair. "_He's out of surgery. You'd better get down here_."

"At once, Doctor. Spock out."

He and Uhura stood as one, sharing one heavy glance.

"Will you join me?" he asked, serene in his stillness.

Uhura smiled weakly. "Of course."

* * *

When they entered the semi-private room in sickbay, Bones was hovering over Jim's bed. He turned when Spock and Uhura approached.

Spock's eyes latched immediately on to Jim's prone form. The Captain was pale, too pale. The gold shirt and black undershirt were abandoned in favor of a thick bandage that circled around his bare torso. Spock was relieved to see his friend's chest rising and falling normally, but the total slackness of the insentient face was still unsettling. In addition to the circles under his eyes, a dark bruise was forming on one cheekbone—a result of the struggle and the only thing that gave any color to his complexion.

"What is his condition?" Spock asked, feeling as though his heart was beating too low in his chest.

Bone shook his head. "It's a bad wound. Punctured left lung. Lots of internal bleeding. A centimeter or so lower, it'd have gone through the heart."

The news, the sight of the motionless figure before him, drew the beginnings of seething rage from Spock's stomach. He fought it down as best as he could, keeping his face level. "I'll be in the brig questioning the Andorian prisoner."

Across the room, at Sarek's bedside, Nurse Chapel spoke up. "Doctor, the K2 factor is dropping."

"Spock," Bones said, grabbing Spock by the elbow, "there's something else. Your father is much worse. There's no longer a choice. I have to operate immediately." He released Spock and crossed his arms, resigned. "We can begin as soon as you're prepared."

Almost immediately, Spock shook his head. "No, Doctor. My first responsibility is to the ship. My time musing over the Captain's condition has made such remarkably clear to me. Our passengers' safety is by Starfleet order of first importance. We are being followed by an alien, possibly hostile, vessel. I cannot relinquish command under these circumstances."

Bones flung out a hand. "You can turn command over to Scotty!"

"On what grounds, Doctor?" Spock said forcefully. "Command requirements do not recognize personal privilege. I'll be in the brig interrogating the Andorian."

He turned on his heel without another word. Slack-jawed, Bones turned to Uhura. "You've got yourself a piece of work there. His father will _die_ if Spock doesn't give his blood. Is a ship worth that?" When Uhura didn't respond, he pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes. "Goddamn Vulcans."

* * *

**Oh, Spock. A few of you have been expressing your annoyance at Spock's behavior, and that's totally purposeful. He was frustrating in the episode, because he is so driven by motivations in conflict with human instinct and he's under so much pressure in this situation. That's why he's so interesting, though! Hopefully this chapter cut him a little slack with his apology to Uhura.**

**But oh, man, the conflict is not over yet.**

**Stay tuned for the next installment, and, as usual, I love hearing from y'all!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**-Penn**


	8. Chapter 8

**Bit of a shorter chapter, but there's some big stuff happening. The scene that a lot of you have been waiting for...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Spock was waiting in the brig when Shras, the Andorian ambassador, came striding down to meet him. The Andorian who had attacked Jim was now sitting morosely in one corner of his cell, unfairly fully recovered from the fight.

"Ambassador," Spock said, with a restrained dip of the head. Only years of diplomatic experience helped staunch the distrust and anger that leaked through his consciousness. "Do you know this Andorian?"

Shras flicked his attention to the cell, regarding the alien inside with unease. "He is Thelev, a minor member of my staff. I know nothing of him except that he has served adequately."

_Until attempting murder_.

In lieu of an eye-roll, Spock raised one eyebrow. "He has been subjected to questioning under verifier scan and truth drug. He reveals nothing." He looked at Shras carefully. "I suggest his mind has been so conditioned as part of a preconceived plan."

At his, Shras crossed his arms. "My people are a violent race, but we've no quarrel with Captain Kirk."

"Apparently Thelev did," Spock said coldly.

It was Shras' turn to raise his eyebrows. "You suggest a plot. How could it profit us to harm the Captain?"

"I do not know," Spock tested. "There is no logic in Thelev's attack upon the Captain. There is no logic in Gav's murder."

Shras' tilted his head ever so slightly, his forehead creasing. "Perhaps you should forget logic and devote yourself to motivations of passion or gain," he said. "Those are reasons for murder."

Unwanted flashbacks of radiation chambers and foot chases came rumbling forth from Spock's subconscious. Even now, as he looked toward the imprisoned Andorian in the brig, he felt the same hatred that had possessed him then.

"Indeed," he said, and he looked away.

* * *

An hour later, as Spock paced back and forth in his personal quarters, the buzzer sounded.

"Come in," he said offhandedly, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth as he continued walking.

To no big surprise, it was Uhura who stepped through the door. She took one look at Spock before marching forward.

"Spock, you need to turn command over to someone else."

Seeing his path blocked, Spock spun around and seated himself in his desk chair. "Nyota, when I was commissioned, I took an oath to carry out responsibilities which were clearly and exactly specified."

"Any competent officer can command this ship," Uhura insisted. "Only _you_ can give your father the blood transfusions that he needs to live."

"Any competent officer can command this ship under normal circumstances," Spock corrected her. "The circumstances are not normal. We are carrying over one hundred valuable Federation passengers. We're being pursued by an alien ship. We're subject to possible attack. There has been murder and attempted murder on board." He looked up at her, a hint of pleading in his eyes. "I cannot dismiss my duties."

"Duty?" Uhura scoffed. "Your _duty_ is to your father!"

"I know," said Spock, "but this must take precedence. If I could give the transfusion without loss of efficiency, I would. Sarek understands my reason."

Drawing herself up suddenly, Uhura crossed her arms. "Well, I don't. It's not human." At Spock's minute withdrawal, she frowned. "It's not a dirty word. You're human, too. Let that part of you come through. Your father is dying!"

"Nyota, how could you have lived and worked with a Vulcan for so long, been so entirely affectionate and intimate with a Vulcan, without understanding what it means to be a Vulcan?" Spock stood, and Uhura took a step back.

"If this is what it means, I don't want to know," she snapped.

"It means to adapt a philosophy, a way of life, which is logical and beneficial," Spock continued. "We cannot disregard that philosophy merely for personal gain, no matter how important that gain might be."

"Nothing is as important as your own father's life!"

"Can you imagine what my father would say if I were to agree?" Spock said, quieting. "If I were to give up command of this vessel, jeopardize hundreds of lives, risk interplanetary war, all for the life of one person?"

There was a brief period of silence wherein the two simply stared at each other, the look itself a transference of words. The tension sliced through the space between them, but at Spock's words it had subsided to the drone that follows an explosion.

At last Uhura spoke. "When your planet was destroyed," she began cautiously, "when your mother was lost, I saw those human eyes for the first time. I saw you anguished, stiff-lipped, tortured by the grief that you were supposed to suppress. I watched you, knowing that inside the human part of you was crying, and I cried, too." Her expression cracked. "There must be some part of your mother that is still in you, some part that I still can rarely reach. I _know_ that you have some human in you, and you owe it to your mother to honor it. You owe it to her to not treat _human_ as a dirty word. You owe it to me." She bit her lip. "If being Vulcan is more important to you, then you'll stand there speaking rules and regulations from Starfleet and Vulcan philosophy, and let your father die. You'll turn your back on everything you've made of yourself these past few years. And I will hate you for that, Spock."

She was crying now, hot tears carving stripes down her cheeks. Spock looked at her for a long moment, shoulders falling. Then, tenderly, carefully, he brushed a thumb over her cheekbone, smudging the tears on her skin and lingering in her hair. "Nyota…"

"Oh, go to him," she said with a desperate choke. "Now. Please."

Spock's hand remained close to her face, tender, cautious. He swallowed and looked down into those dark, pleading eyes, seeing the weight of all that was human and all that was desperate buried there.

"I cannot," he said finally.

A pause, a silence devoid of breath. Then Uhura stepped back from him abruptly, swinging her arm up with surprising agility and catching him across the face with her palm. The slap echoed hollowly throughout the room, and Spock's face remained stony. Covering her mouth with her hand, Uhura looked at him once more, then stormed out.

Spock followed her a few steps, but the door shut in his face. He stopped, frozen in place, staring at the closed door. Then, ever so slowly, he raised a hand and pressed it to the cold material.

It did not yield.

* * *

**Whew, that was a tough one. This is the pivotal moment in interchanging Amanda and Uhura, and I hope it worked. I have always had some difficulty writing Uhura, particularly because she is such a strong character in reboot!verse. I hope I did her justice. This scene definitely had me in tears when I watched it, and it was very fun exploring the new angles and dynamics now that Amanda is gone.**

**Thank you all for your continued support, and for reading. Review!**

**Till next time,**

**-Penn**


	9. Chapter 9

**Well kids, we've reached the pivotal chapters of the story; hopefully everything will be falling into place! Thanks again for the wonderful reviews!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Everything was a whirl of darkness, a kind of rushing stream of words that was drowned out by the overwhelming whooshing in his ears. It was like huddling in the basement during an Iowa tornado. Yeah, that's what it must have been.

Except that the more purchase he found in his ascent, the softer the whooshing got, and the more the achiness spread through his body instead. He moaned as a stab of pain shot through him, the awareness of a physical form hitting him at once.

Jim opened his eyes and the whooshing immediately stopped, replaced by a thin buzzing and offensive bright lights.

"Doctor McCoy?"

Jim groaned and squeezed his eyes shut at the offending lights of sickbay, and he heard Nurse Chapel mutter something along the lines of "Lights, 70 percent." The burn subsided somewhat beneath his eyelids, but the pounding in his head only continued to increase.

"I'd like to get my hands on the guy with the sledgehammer," he said, scrunching up his face.

He could feel, almost unconsciously, the presence of Bones' tricorder hovering over him. Nurse Chapel, to his left, had a frown in her tone. "The one who hit you?"

"No, the one inside my head," Jim said, prying his eyes open at last. Sure enough, Bones was lingering above him with the tricorder, face crinkled in its usual frown but tinged with a subtle relief. Jim had been in sickbay and had enough near-death experiences to recognize that face. He blinked a few times, then began lifting himself up from the biobed. "How long was I—"

He gasped with a garbled note of pain as the fire in his back and through his chest flared up. He vaguely felt Bones' steady hands on his arms, guiding back to the pillow, and he ceiling spun above him.

"Now let that be a lesson to you," Bones said gruffly. "Just lie there and be happy you're still alive."

Resigned, Jim crossed his arms over the thick bandage around his middle and pressed his head back into the pillow. "How's Sarek?"

Bones chewed on his response for a moment, then said, "Not good. If I could only operate."

Jim frowned. "What's stopping you? I thought you were all ready?"

"I _was_," Bones said. "When you got yourself injured, Spock assumed command. He's going to stay there until you're back on your feet, even if it costs Sarek his life." He sighed in frustration. "Regulations."

Jim let out a heavy breath, then slowly eased himself up on to his elbows. "I can't damn him for his loyalty," he said, wincing as he sat up entirely and threw his legs over the edge of the biobed, "for doing his duty, but I'm not going to let him commit patricide."

Bones was immediately at Jim's side, hands on his arm again. Gentle but firm. Worried. "Jim, if you stand, you could start to bleed again."

Practically sagging with exhaustion but determined not to show it, Jim looked Bones hard in the eyes. "Bones, Sarek will die without that operation, and you can't operate without transfusions from Spock. I'll convince Spock I'm all right and order him to report here. As soon as he leaves the bridge, I'll turn command over to Scotty and report to my quarters." He slid off of the bed carefully, the shock of hitting the floor stinging through him, but Bones was there to steady him. "Will that fill your prescription?"

For a few seconds, it looked as if Bones would say no. His face contorted into the ugly kind of grimace reserved for people—namely, Jim—not abiding by his sickbay rules. From years of friendship, Jim was able to trace the lines of concern, of uncertainty, in the other man's forehead. However, after an extended hesitation, the doctor finally conceded.

"God, Jim," he said. "Be careful."

At this, Jim flashed a remarkable shit-eating smile. "Come on, Bones. You know me. What could go wrong?"

* * *

The bridge was operating in its usual fluid manner when Jim and Bones stepped off of the turbolift. Chekov turned at his post and, with all of the joy and disbelief of a child on Christmas written on his face, exclaimed, "Keptin on ze bridge!"

At this, every face turned to Jim. None looked more surprised than Spock, despite his Vulcan heritage.

"Captain?"

Jim smiled at the bridge crew and nodded at them. "Back to work, please." He then stepped down to the Captain's chair, trying not to wince as he attempted his usual energy. "I'll take over, Mr. Spock. You report to sickbay with Doctor McCoy."

Spock frowned, incredulity plastered on his features. He looked Jim up and down, examined his face, lingered on the new, pristine command shirt that covered up the bandages.

"See anything you like?" Jim joked.

The joke, as usual, was lost. "Captain, are you quite alright?"

Before Jim could answer, Bones stepped in. "I've certified him physically fit, Mr. Spock. Now, since I have an operation to perform and both of us are required—"

"Get out, Spock," Jim said with a usual, if somewhat diminished, crooked smile. He jerked his thumb in the direction of the turbolift. The two shared a long look, a conversation embedded in such a simple exchange.

_It is not logical that you would have recovered so quickly. You are not well._

_I'm fine. Go, help your father._

At long last, Spock broke the contact and rose from the chair.

Was that thankfulness in his eyes?

Jim clapped him half-heartedly on the back before settling into the chair himself, albeit gingerly. If Spock noticed this discomfort, he refrained from saying anything. Perhaps a part of him wanted to leave after all, despite regulation.

At least, that's what Jim hoped.

Spock and Bones walked to the turbolift, and Jim summoned up the best of his commanding voice. "Chekov, what's the status of the intruder?"

"No change, sir," Chekov responded. "Maintaining its distance."

"Any further transmissions?"

From her post, deliberately focused on her work and not the Vulcan that walked past into the turbolift, Uhura raised her head. "None, sir."

The doors to the turbolift hissed closed, and in the blink of an eye the charade was up. Jim leaned heavily against the arm of his chair, beads of sweat pricking at his hairline. He leaned sideways, contorting in ways he never thought possible to find some respite from his wound.

"Call Mr. Scott to the bridge," he instructed a nearby ensign, releasing a pent-up breath and focusing hard on a line in the floor.

Just as he was lifting himself out of the command chair, Chekov spun around. "Keptin, the alien wessel is moving closer."

A few quick thoughts raced through Jim's mind, and, as usual, he leapt on instinct. "Belay that order," he told the ensign near him. "I'll stay here."

Now Uhura spun around. "Captain, I'm picking up the alien signal again, but it's coming from inside the _Enterprise_."

"Specific origin?" Jim said, shifting uncomfortably in the chair.

Uhura glanced at her instruments once more, as if to confirm for herself what she was seeing. "From the brig."

_Of course_.

Jim punched the comm unit on his chair. "Security? Security to the brig. Search the prisoner immediately."

"Keptin, the alien ship has changed course and speed," Chekov said. "Moving directly toward us at warp eight."

"Deflectors on," Jim said. "Red Alert. Phasers stand by to fire on my order."

"Aye, sir. Shields on. Phasers manned and ready, sir."

"Chekov, take over Spock's scanners."

"Aye, sir."

The comm buzzed, and Jim clicked it on. "Kirk here."

_"Security here. We had to stun the Andorian. He had some sort of transceiver. It was hidden in his antennae."_

"Bring the prisoner to the bridge." Just as he finished his transmission, a light flooded the bridge and the ship rocked violently. Jim gripped the armrests in a death grip, focusing primarily on keeping his nausea at bay.

"Get ready," he said as the members of his crew struggled to right themselves. "We're under attack."

* * *

**Two more chapters after this! The ****_Enterprise _****under attack and Spock/Sarek going in for surgery. The game is on.**

**As usual, thanks for reading, and please stop by to leave a comment!**

**Till next time,**

**-Penn**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello all! Here's the long-awaited penultimate chapter! Sorry for the slight delay in posting-it was a conscious choice not to post yesterday, and frankly I've been busy today until now. But never fear, here it is.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Far from the bridge, in a sterile and stiff bubble of containment, Bones and Nurse Chapel busied themselves with final preparations. Tubes were hooked into the unconscious forms of Sarek and Spock, lying in parallel biobeds designed for the sole purpose of surgery. Bones snapped on his gloves and made one more pass at his line of instruments.

"Readings, Nurse."

Nurse Chapel glanced up at the biobed monitors. "Mr. Spock's blood reproduction rate is up over 200 percent. Sarek's heartbeat has risen to 324. Blood pressure 90 over 40, dropping."

Bones gave an indistinct head bob. "I wish I knew whether that was good or bad." He swallowed. "Initiate sterile field."

As Nurse Chapel reached over to the monitors, Spock struggled up to his elbows in a state of half-delirium, muttering to himself.

"Mr. Spock," Chapel said, putting a hand on the Vulcan's arm.

At Spock's continued attempts to rise, Bones sidled over. "Now where do you think you're going?"

"I must see the Captain," Spock said clearly, focused directly in front of him. His eyes were partially glazed, but the determination broke through.

Bones nearly laughed. "My patients don't walk out in the middle of an operation." He shot Chapel a meaningful look, and the Nurse moved toward the table of hypos.

"The alien ship," Spock insisted. "I've just realized that if their power utilization curve is not the norm, it should be possible to identify them this way." He clumsily attempted to swing his legs out of bed, but the IVs in his arm stopped him. "Very important."

Bones placed a hand on Spock's shoulder with a weak, apologetic smile. Then, just off to the side, Nurse Chapel sank the hypo into the Vulcan's neck. He fell back onto the pillows slowly.

"So is your father's life," Bones said quietly, but sleep had already claimed Spock.

* * *

Back on the bridge, commands whipped around the room in flurries, every crewmember charged and alert at their stations.

"Target, Mr. Chekov," Jim called out.

"Moving away. Turning now. He'd coming around again."

"Fire as he passes, Ensign." Jim, trapped in his awkward sideways angle in an attempt to appease the crippling pain in his back, ran a hand over his mouth. He followed the path of the enemy ship as it swooped past, nearly rocking the ship with its proximity. A burst of phaser fire lit up the darkness beyond, but the ship continued on its course.

"A clean miss, sir," Chekov said in disappointment. The young Ensign was sweating, though not nearly as much as his Captain.

"Report on his weaponry, Mr. Chekov," Jim said.

Chekov, looking somewhat dwarfed at Spock's usual station, glanced down at the instruments. "Sensors record standard phasers, sir."

Jim nodded. "Standard phasers. Good. They may have more speed, but they're not giants."

Behind him, Uhura's voice rang out. "Captain, the intercoms are jammed. All the ambassadors are asking what's going on."

Jim didn't even turn. "Tell them to take a good guess, Lieutenant," he drawled. "But clear that board."

"He's coming around again!" Chekov exclaimed. Just as soon as the words were out of his mouth, there was another surge of light, and the ship rocked violently. Jim's grunt of pain as he was tossed to the side was lost amidst the shouts of other crewmen.

* * *

Bones' heart leapt to his chest as the ship lurched beneath his feet. Deep in surgery, he steadied himself as much as he could. He resisted the urge to wipe his brow of sweat and kept his eyes focused on the task at hand. "One more hit like that, and I'm going to lose both these men."

Off to the side, quietly listening, Spock had woken up again.

* * *

The bridge crew scrambled back to posts as the ship was rocked with another explosion.

"Fire control locked into ze computers, Keptin," Chekov said.

Jim kept his eyes ahead. "On my order, fire photon torpedoes two, four, and six. Widest possible scatter." He paused, fixed on the bridge window. When the enemy ship whizzed into view, Jim's jaw tightened. "Fire."

There were a few blasts of light, spurts of color. Then, Chekov's disappointed voice: "Full spread missed, sir. They're moving too fast for us."

"Damnit," Jim said under his breath, passing a sleeve over his sweaty forehead.

* * *

"Doctor," Chapel said, voice surprisingly calm, "his heart's stopped."

"Cardio-stimulate," Bones replied, equally calm. His face flushed, however, as another jolt shook the room. In an instant, the room dimmed.

Chapel stood in chilly silence for a few moments before voicing the one thing Bones did not want to hear: "The systems are off."

Not one to miss a beat, Bones took this in stride. "Then get me that old portable cardio-stimulator."

In a flash, Chapel disappeared to the other side of the room and came hurrying back with an old, hand-sized device on a trolley. She switched it on as Bones threw an instrument down on the table. "Call engineering and have sickbay systems put on priority," he said, already reaching for the stimulator.

* * *

Chekov's voice was reaching dangerous levels of unease, but he performed his duties remarkably well.

"Number four shield has buckled, sir."

Jim would have to remember to praise the ensign once this was all over. For now, all he could focus on was getting this ship out in one piece. And not passing out.

"Auxillary power."

"Switching over," Chekov said. "Shields firming up. Number four is still weak, sir. If zey hit us zere again, it will go altogether."

Jim grunted his understanding. A few seconds later, the turbolift doors hissed open. It was too much of a strain to turn, but Jim knew exactly who it was. His face hardened.

"Your friends out there are good." He kept his tone light and blasé, but he didn't move a muscle. "They'll have to destroy this ship to win."

"That was intended from the beginning, Captain." The Andorian prisoner, Thelev, took his place standing a few feet from the command chair, flanked by two security guards. From his peripherals, Jim was disgusted to see the alien smiling. He also saw, with mild interest, the broken antennae on the Andorian's head—antennae that were now obviously fake, having concealed the transmitter that had brought the enemy ship to the _Enterprise_.

"You're not Andorian," Jim said conversationally. "Who are you?"

"Damage reports coming in, Captain. Every deck," Uhura said.

"Number two shield is gone," Chekov added.

Jim licked his now-cracked lips. "Damage control procedures, all decks." He punched his comm. "Engineering, this is the Captain. Cut power on port side except for phaser banks. At my signal, cut starboard power." He shut off the comm and whipped his head to the side to face the Andorian. "Who are you?"

Thelev's grin just grew wider. "Find your own answers, Captain. You haven't long to live."

"You're a spy, surgically altered to pass as an Andorian," Jim said through gritted teeth. "Planted in the ambassador's party to use terror and murder to disrupt us and prepare for the attack."

"Speculation, Captain," Therev said silkily. "Say, that's a nasty bruise you have there."

It took all of Jim's self control, but he ignored the comment and thumbed the comm unit. "Engineering, cut power on starboard side. Maintain until further orders." Without moving his head, he called, "Chekov!"

The bridge lights dimmed to create an eerie shadow land as the ensign rushed back to his usual station.

"What are you doing?" Thelev asked shortly.

Jim swung his head to meet the alien's gaze and shot him a half-smile, half-grimace that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You speculate."

"We're starting to drift, sir," Chekov said. "Shall I hold her on course?"

"No, stand by your phasers, Mr. Chekov," Jim said lazily.

"Aye, sir. Phasers standing by. He's just hovering out there, sir."

"Looking us over," Jim said, nodding. "We're dead, as far as he knows."

Jim could sense the moment the plan dawned on Thelev. "You're baiting him. You're trying to lure him in."

"Here he comes," warned Chekov. "Range decreasing. Speed dropping close to sublight."

"Hold your fire, Mr. Chekov."

"Phasers locked on target," Chekov said carefully, face close to the console. "Range closing. 75,000 kilometers."

A pause, a collective breath through the bridge. The silence was so complete, even the ship seemed to be in anticipation.

Then, Jim spoke.

"Fire."

Phasers tore through space and matter, igniting the sky and generating a flare of white light.

"Got him!" Chekov yelped.

"Secure from general quarters," Jim said coolly. "Lieutenant, open the hailing frequency. If they wish to surrender—"

Out of nowhere, before he could complete his order, another flare, much larger this time, erupted in front of them. The small enemy burst into a mass of colors of such intensity that the bridge crew was forced to shield their eyes. The brightness, like a mini supernova, reached a peak, then subsided gradually into millions of burnt-out particles.

"They could not surrender, Captain," Thelev said quietly. "They had orders to self-destruct."

Jim allowed himself a few calming breaths to settle his racing heart, working to keep his face as impassive as that of his First Officer. "Lieutenant, relay to Starfleet Command. Tell them we have a prisoner."

Uhura murmured her understanding, but Thelev broke through with an unsettlingly calm purr. "Only temporarily, Captain. You see, I had orders to self-destruct, too. Slow poison. Quite painless, actually, but there's no known antidote." As the horror dawned on Jim, Thelev raised an eyebrow. "I anticipate another ten minutes of life."

As much as he resented the alien, as much as he hated him, Jim's mind raced, and he swung around immediately. "Take him to sickbay," he told the security officers. "Quick."

The security officers nodded and began to lead Thelev out, but before they could even make it up the steps to the turbolift, the alien's face fell. "I…I seem to have miscalculated."

He collapsed in the grip of the security officers, his body slumped awkwardly forward and feet twisted on the ground.

Fighting a wave of nausea, Jim closed his eyes for a brief second. When he opened his eyes, with all of the aches and pains in his body, he felt older than he had in a long while.

"So did they," he said. "So did they." Standing stiffly, unable to hide the contortion of pain on his face as the adrenaline wore off and he stretched, he nodded to Chekov. "Mr. Chekov—take over." As he passed by the communications station, he muttered, "Uhura, with me."

He walked gingerly to the turbolift, glad for once in his life to be relieved.

* * *

**Yay! The ****_Enterprise _****made it out of this one alive-though Spock and Sarek are still in question. One more chapter to go to wrap things up!**

**Thanks for the continued support. I appreciate any and all reviews that come my way!**

**Till next time,**

**-Penn**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello loves! At last, we have reached the final chapter of ****_Blood Loss_****. Maybe by now you have caught on to the double meaning in the title :]**

**Thanks so much for sticking around. I hope you have had fun with this little foray into rebooting TOS.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Jim entered the sickbay with Uhura, relieved to see only a handful of crewmen waiting to be treated for minor injuries. However, when his look around the room failed to provide him with Spock or Sarek, he wiped his damp palms on his pants.

"Bones?" he called.

"They're probably fine," Uhura said quietly, reassuringly. "McCoy is likely just cleaning up."

"Bones?" Jim called out again. Then he looked at Uhura, who had a hand placed reassuringly on his shoulder. "I'm fine," he insisted. "Promise."

It was true, Uhura had helped him most of the way down to sickbay, one arm loosely around his waist while he limped along, too tired and too out of breath with discomfort to say much—but he would never admit that to Bones. He wouldn't admit that he'd puked up his guts halfway down the sickway hallway with Uhura embarrassingly standing by. He wouldn't admit it.

But, knowing Bones, the doctor would likely figure it out anyway.

At last, the doctor appeared around a corner, drying his hands on a towel. He too looked exhausted, and his face was unreadable. "Are you quite through shaking the ship around?"

Jim was in no mood for jokes. "Spock, Sarek. How are they?"

Bones raised his eyebrows. "I don't mind telling you, but you sure make it difficult for a surgeon trying—"

"Bones!" Jim cried.

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Okay, don't get your panties in a bunch. Come in."

All hurt was forgotten in lieu of urgency as Jim followed his friend around a corner and through a door into the private ward of sickbay. The knot in his stomach was only alleviated when he saw Spock and Sarek awake and alert in their beds, both looking with interest at the small group. Jim grinned and moved to the foot of Spock's biobed, feeling all worry and tension leak from his body the more he saw his friend react.

"That pig-headed Vulcan stamina," Bones was saying. "I couldn't have pulled them through without it."

"Some doctors have all the luck," Jim said off-handedly, still too dazed with relief to say much else.

"Captain," Spock said, "I believe you'll find the alien—"

"We damaged their ship," Jim said, shaking his head to cut Spock off. "They destroyed themselves to avoid capture. Bones, Thelev's body will be brought to your lab. I want an autopsy performed as soon as possible."

"I think you'll find he's an Orion, Doctor," Spock added.

Bones frowned. "Orion?"

Spock nodded. "Intelligence reports that Orion smugglers have been raiding the Coridan system."

"But what would they gain by an attack on Starfleet?" Jim's forehead creased in confusion.

"Mutual suspicion and interplanetary war."

It hit Jim all at once, a refreshing flood of realization. "Yes, of course. With Orion carefully neutral, they'd clean up supplying dilithium to both sides and continue to raid Coridan."

"The thing that confused me was the power utilization curve," Spock said. "It made them seem more powerful than a starship or anything known to us. That ship was constructed for a suicide mission. Since they never intended to return to their home base, they could use 100 percent power on their attacks. The thing I don't understand is why I didn't think of it earlier."

He looked so disturbed, so befuddled, that Jim couldn't help but shoot him a sympathetic smile. "You might have had something else on your mind."

Instead of comforting the Vulcan, this only seemed to deepen his confused frown. "That hardly seems likely."

Jim shot a pointed glance at Uhura, and the two rolled their eyes in unison. "No, but thank you anyway," he said dryly.

"And Sarek," Uhura said, stepping forward. Her face was kind, but determined. "Wouldn't you like to say thank you to your son?"

Jim shot her a panicked warning glance—but this was the woman who stood alone against an armored group of Klingons without flinching.

"I do not understand," Sarek said, frowning.

"For saving your life." Uhura kept her gaze steady and resolute, even while Jim and Bones were simultaneously flinching back.

To their surprise, Sarek did not respond with his usual coldness. He regarded Uhura with fascination. To Jim, it seemed as if something long-forgotten flickered in the old Vulcan's eyes.

"Spock acted in the only logical manner open to him," he said, keeping his stare fixed on the Lieutenant.

Spock nodded his agreement. "One does not thank logic, Nyota."

Suddenly Uhura's composure snapped. "Logic!" she turned, frenzied, to Jim for support, but he backed away like a frightened dog. "Logic, logic! I'm sick to death of logic. Do you want to know how I feel about logic?"

Sarek tilted his head toward Spock. "Emotional, isn't she?"

Spock, however, kept his focus on a fuming Uhura. "She has always been that way."

From his biobed, Sarek nodded. "Your mother was the same way."

A beat. Then: "Why did you marry her?"

A calmness seemed to wash over Sarek, an understanding. A revelation, even. "Why did you choose Ms. Uhura as a companion?"

Uhura whipped her head back toward Spock, who had not ceased to hold her in his stare. For a minute, Jim saw it; saw the human eyes, full of loss and longing, of caution and compassion.

"It has seemed…the logical thing to do."

The pause that followed was quiet, tender. Uhura softened, swallowing as she too took in Spock's eyes and the meaning behind them. The two shared the moment in soft understanding, a connection that seemed in one moment to bridge a time that had been lost. A look that seemed to say _it will be okay_, and so much more.

As usual, it was Jim who rudely interrupted the gentle moment by promptly beginning to collapse. The relief of seeing his friend alive had worn off completely, as had the adrenaline, and every pain in his body surged forward with renewed intensity. The world swirled in dizzying contortions, and he swayed. "Bones…"

The doctor was quick, sprinting across the room and catching the Captain by the armpits just before he collapsed to the floor.

"No, no, I'm alright," Jim slurred, dimly feeling as if he was somewhere outside of his body.

"No, you're about to pass out," Bones said sternly, guiding him to an empty biobed. "I told you, didn't I, that you would over-exert yourself."

"'m fine," Jim murmured. "Just need to walk it off."

"The last thing you need to be doing is walking," Bones said, laying an increasingly unresponsive Jim down in the biobed gently. "If you keep arguing with your kindly family doctor, you're going to spend your next ten days right here." He paused, frowning. "If you cooperate, you'll be out in two."

Across the room, Spock began rising from his bed. "Doctor, I'll return to my station now."

Bones shot a threatening glance Spock's direction, a stare fierce enough to freeze even the Vulcan in place. "You are at your station Mr. Spock." Slowly, keeping his eyes on the red-faced doctor, Spock shifted his legs back under the covers of the biobed.

"Doctor McCoy," Jim said blearily, raising his head off of the pillow with effort, "I believe you are enjoying all of this."

Spock met the Captain's gaze across the room and nodded. "Indeed, Captain; I've never seen him look so happy."

"Shut up," Bones shot the Vulcan's way. When Jim opened his mouth to make another remark, the doctor turned on him. "Shh!" Jim tried again, but Bones held up a finger. "Shh!" Immediately Jim's mouth clamped shut, and he dropped his head back onto the pillow again in resignation.

There was silence in the ward, complete stillness, as every eye fixed on Bones. The doctor looked around, challenging them all, daring them to speak again, but everyone was mute. After a few seconds of this, Bones' face transformed into a grin—a true, genuine grin.

"Well, what do you know?" he asked no one in particular, puffing himself up. "I finally got the last word!"

* * *

**It had to happen, guys. Because Bones is the best.**

**Anyway, I cannot express the extent of my gratitude to you all for your continued support and encouragement. It makes me happy beyond words to read what you have to say and see that people are reading my work.**

**Two orders of business:**

**1. I really failed at this in my last story, because apparently I don't understand the internet, so if you would like to check out my Tumblr, my url is pennflinn. I love talking to y'all through there as well!**

**2. I'm taking story requests! I don't have any more fics planned out right now, so if you would like to see something, let me know. I'm pretty busy with school now, but I get such joy out of these characters. Character studies? More reboots of episodes? A happy alternative ending to ****_It Goes On_****? Let me know! (Although we all know the last one won't happen...muahahaha)**

**Anyway, long story short, thank you so so much for everything. Loves.**

**Till next time,**

**-Penn**


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